


Finding a Planet to Call Ours

by Itar94



Series: Building Neutron Stars [9]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alpha Rodney McKay, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Ancients, Angst, Building Neutron Stars: The John/Rodney Arc, Earth, Episode: s03e10-e11 The Return, M/M, McShep - Freeform, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Omega John Sheppard, Replicators, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itar94/pseuds/Itar94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't quite know why it feels like there’s this gaping hole in his body, stretched open like something’s been torn out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set right after [Discovering Fear (And Other Astronomical Data)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/951697/chapters/1861262) and might not make much sense if you haven't read that and the rest of the series.  
>  **Warning** for sensitive content; please read the tags!

[ ](../tags/Building%20Neutron%20Stars:%20The%20John*s*Rodney%20Arc)

**Seizure** /ˈsiːʒə(r)/  
[noun]  
 _sudden attack (medecine);  
_ _the act of taking possession of something;  
_ _(re)claiming something by force_

Light returns to his senses slowly, filling out his vision and clearing away the haze. As he comes to, Rodney is chattering away in his ear comfortingly _present;_ and he becomes aware of the scent of Ronon there as well, strong and heady, and of antibiotics and dry walls and beeping machinery. The infirmary is a bit cold and there are no windows, and everything is too gray and stilted to be Atlantis. A ship, then; the Daedalus. 

Ronon shifts and says, “Hey,” quietly as usual and it seems to wake Rodney from his trance, the alpha flinching and silencing briefly (but only briefly).

“Finally, sleeping beauty! You’ve been out for over fourteen hours! All those drugs they had pumped into you can’t be good since this happens like every second week. Are you hurting? Should I call for Carson? Talk to me!”

“McKay,” John grunts out tiredly, “where’s your volume control?” and the active response seems to calm the alpha for a bit, even if he keeps fidgeting and prodding.

Carson enters his vision greeting him with a kind smile, saying everything’s going to be fine, they’re on their way back to Atlantis and everything will work out and he isn’t alert enough to catch all the details. The doctor looks very tired though, face shadowed and his eyes unusually dark, without that familiar cheery glimmer in them, and there’s something they aren’t telling yet, John is certain but too tired to ask. His memory is fragmented, and it takes a moment to put the disjointed pieces together - then, then he remembers the craze, the men dying, the ruined gate and the past coming back to haunt them; not recognizing Rodney, a stranger in his place; Teyla being shot by one of their own -

“Teyla! Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, lad,” the doctor quickly assures him, “she pulled out of surgery well and is resting right now, and you need to be too.” The voice is soft now and a bit otherworldly and he's on his way falling asleep again, barely catching the words. “We had to remove a large piece of shrapnel from your abdomen.”

Shrapnel. The explosion. Leonard killing himself. John shuts his eyes, chest brimming with regret. If only they’d have just shut down the machine and not hunted after him, bringing him to madness, if they’d shut the machine off earlier so many lives could have been saved. If they’d. If. But his tongue is like lead and sleep is quickly wrapping itself back around his spine and he finds himself sinking down, Rodney still sitting in the corner of his vision now munching on a sandwich and talking about the inefficiency of medical voodoo and how the Daedalus should’ve come sooner. John doesn’t quite know why it feels like there’s this gaping hole in his body, stretched open like something’s been torn out of him.

It’s been a long fucked up day.

* * *

He sleeps.

There is a dream reoccurring: the sand swirling around his ankles, Rodney turning to face him in a foreign body, his team and home shattered by bullets. Three times that night he sees Holland dying and there’s this sharp pain in his gut, inexplicable and random and not-belonging; but it’s a nightmare and those are never kind. So he tries finding a way out.

* * *

They’re fifteen hours away from the city at lightspeed and John is awake again feeling much better and more clearheaded, even if he isn’t allowed to eat or drink yet, hooked up to IV tubes, his sore body heavy on the mattress. Rodney is asleep, finally, having run out of adrenaline and outrun the caffeine boost provided earlier when taken aboard; he still looks like a wreck and will wake with a terrible crick in then neck but he’s refused to waver from his mate’s side. And Ronon is there too, present as always and John glances at the Satedan, seeking confirmation.

“You guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Ronon answers, not asking _You?_ or mentioning if he’d heard the omega talk through his dreams, moaning pathetically as he’d watched them all fade away, and John is relieved.

* * *

Then Carson returns to his side at seeing him coherent, and John grins at him, as usual, but not feeling ready just yet to crack some dry joke at his own expense, the disaster still too close to his skin (the pictures of all the corpses vividly appearing in his dreams). Rodney still sleeps soundly, not reacting to being prodded at or even to the smell of coffee. For some reason, the doctor looks sharply at Ronon and they must’ve had some discussion earlier before he was awake, a message silently passing between them and it’s annoying to be this unknowing; and it takes a while before the Satedan nods sharply, appearing almost feral as he relents, hovering by the door for a moment before it shuts.

He’d only he pushed out of the room for one reason and, fuck, John doesn’t want him to go.

The doc is quiet for a moment and John suddenly doesn’t want him to speak because he can only be bearing some very bad news and he tries to draw back, tries to open his mouth but his throat is all tight and he wonders what the words will be. _I’m sorry, Colonel,_ Carson maybe will say; _but Teyla won’t make it._ Or _I’m sorry, Colonel, but we couldn’t save Lieutenant Kagan._ Or -

“John,” Carson says, almost too gently for the truth; “when you were taken aboard, we discovered you’d had a spontaneous abortion. Your body was in shock and we had to remove the embryo surgically.” And, far too gently for the truth; “I’m sorry.”

* * *

Remove it.

He’s been taught not to cry, that tears are a sign of weakness and he can’t be weak (he’s already not quite enough to fit in), and his voice is hoarse and he forgets to breathe and there are no arms to catch him. He doesn’t cry. He isn’t sure if he could - over this, over a lot of things. But. A child. After Marie, they hadn’t planned on having a second. Atlantis isn’t safe, the world isn’t safe and they might not be ready and he had no idea, _had no fucking idea -_

It. (A thing. Unacknowledged and unknown and anonymous.)

There’s so such thing as understanding this loss shared in the environment that he’s lived in for the past decade. No one has ever taught him how to deal, because he’s slipped into the world of alphas and settled there against all traditions, and alphas, while they may be affected by their lovers’ and partners’ losses, they will never experience it themselves, will never know the feeling of having a tiny life within them slipping so cruelly out of their grasp.

* * *

“ ... Does. Does Rodney know?”

“Not yet. I decided to let you know first.”

“Ronon ...” Left the room. Left. Was forced to leave.

“He - he overheard my colleagues and I post-surgery. He refused to leave. But he’s told no one and has sworn confidentiality,” Carson says softly, and it’s not difficult to picture the Satedan refusing orders given to him by doctors or Caldwell’s men, breaking into a private section of the infirmary and a chill travels down his spine at the thought of such protectiveness - of this relentless reality. And he doesn’t want to think about, then, what Rodney would do.

Rodney, unknowing, oblivious; and for a moment John selfishly wants to keep it that way because Rodney will be angry and freak out and Rodney will scream at the doctors’ incompetence and Rodney will blame everyone and himself and Rodney _won’t be calm._ And this small part of him is afraid, afraid of himself and this failing even if he’d always known the risks, he’s headed out in the field before while pregnant but then he’d known and accepted the risks. This could’ve happened before, many times before but, he’d been so naive thinking it wouldn’t happen, not to him, not like this. It wouldn’t.

So fucking naive.

* * *

“Don’t tell them, doc.” _Please._

“You will tell Rodney eventually.” It’s not a question.

Helplessness spreads through his veins like venom. “Yeah.” One hour. Just. He needs a moment. To think. To stop thinking. To stop feeling.

* * *

Eight hours away from the city at lightspeed, he finally gets to talk to Teyla whose leg is in a cast and her face is shadowed but not as full of pain as before. He doesn’t have to argue with Carson to let him out of bed to walk those eighteen feet to her side, because she cannot walk herself and John isn’t sure if he’s able to raise his voice right now and the doctor refuses to push him in any manner. In a way, it’s frustrating and angering and he wishes he had a target, something to hit; wishes that his body would allow him to spar with Ronon but it’s a huge effort right now to support his own weight. His midsection aches unforgivably, a constant reminder.

He’s glad there are no mirrors around.

Teyla doesn’t mention M1B-129 or hallucinations. She doesn’t mention Lyle or Leonard dying. John doesn’t mention the hollowness that’s started eating him from the inside or why he avoids looking into Rodney’s eyes or why Ronon has laid a constant steadying hand on his arm.

* * *

Maybe they all talk too little. But what the hell is he meant to say? Explain. Who does he owe it to? (He’s not sure if he owes himself.)

No words exist to properly explain anyway and he doesn’t want pity or condolences or grieving faces. Gods, he wants to get back to Atlantis now, away from that damned planet and erase the address from the city’s databanks. He wants things to be as they were before - _before._ He wants the beating hearts to return, all those that stopped during those horrible few hours when no one had been able to trust what they saw or believed.

He wants to build a time machine.

* * *

No one knows about the blood.

When no one is nearby to overhear, he wants to ask if there is any way to forget. To just forget so that no one will ever know, so that he can move on but there is no way, there are no answers and no one he dares asking.

How is he meant to tell Rodney that there was a baby and there isn’t anymore and how is he going to be able to face Marie now and hold her like everything’s all right when -

* * *

He wakes up sweating and cold.

* * *

Returning to Atlantis should make him feel warm and relaxed; in the past it has always entered euphoria in his heart to come home after long weary missions. (When finally returning from the Sanctuary he’d never felt so relieved and at peace and _happy.)_ But now, a dense mass of black ice is settled in his chest making it heavy and he wants to bury himself under the ocean floor, so pitifully, bury himself under the weight of his guilt; but now there is no option but going forward and facing Elizabeth and delivering the reports of the deaths of Leonard’s team, of Teyla’s bullet wound and his own collapse, of the disaster, and wear a placid unaffected face throughout.

Elizabeth concernedly takes them all off active duty for the next twelve days, even Ronon and Rodney who are physically all right. As soon as they are beamed down Carson crumbles down, exhausted, and Rodney, unusually pale and fidgeting with a PDA, heads right down to his lab as soon as the briefing’s over. Teyla is sent to her own quarters for some well-needed rest and Ronon stands there, silently observing, waiting, while John has no fucking idea where to go or what to say; and maybe this is the moment when he should call out after Rodney, stopping him and announce to him and the world - that it’s gone. The tiny life no one knew about. No one will care for. That’s it’s gone. Maybe this is the moment when he should run and lock himself in one of the secret corridors that were flooded during the storm last year and just recently salvaged, hide from the world until the pain’s gone. Maybe this is the moment.

Guilt etched in his throat, he turns toward his quarters where Marie will be waiting, guarded by Lorne who’s on babysitting duty, happy and oblivious and carefree.

* * *

A sort of anguish he’s never known before attacks every one of his senses; not directly, more like frost slowly creeping up on him as autumn disappears and turns into winter, freezing all the lakes; and suddenly he feels ashamed to look at her, at the child. His child.

“Sir,” Lorne greets, stilted as he stands. He’s heard about M1B-129, the Wraith hallucination machine, the dead marines. He’ll be one of the first to read all of the reports. Right now he doesn’t ask anything.

John struggles to thank him without wavering. To make everything appear okay. To accept the softly offered condolences over the lost men. But he’s done that a million times before; this time shouldn’t be so different and Lorne suspects nothing as he takes his leave. What’s left then is John standing by the threshold, staring blankly at the little girl sitting on the blanket playing with the miniature puddlejumper Rodney built five months earlier out of scrap parts and he’s torn between wanting to pick her up and never let go, and running away entirely, running to the nearest open balcony and pursuing flight.

Slowly healing wounds not letting him to either, he sinks down heavily beside her, unable to reach out.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

The alpha returns to their quarters an hour later, now more like himself. Rodney is busy babbling about city security and that weird power fluctuation on the South Pier that’s acting up again and the lack of competence amongst the staff; while John struggles to look at their daughter without seeing shadows behind her, unreal reflections in the mirrors and faked hopes in the stained glass windows. He struggles to touch her, to hold her steady, to allow her to grasp him with her tiny hands. To let her seek comfort and happiness from him when he feels so hollow.

“Rodney,” he says. And again, when his mate frowns and halts in confusion; “Rodney. There’s something ...” _you need to know;_ but the words lodge in his throat like melted lead.

 _Don’t be alone,_ they always say. Loneliness isn’t good. Loneliness isn’t good. Don’t make yourself alone. Don’t shut yourself in. Don’t. But he cannot trust himself to share without a breakdown. It has to happen swiftly, without hesitation, or else he might never be able to speak. Like pulling the bullet out of a wound.

“What?” the alpha asks, adding in rapid succession; “Do you need to go back down to the infirmary? I knew it, you shouldn’t be up and about this quickly after -”

“No.” He doesn’t need unrelenting needles and persistent questions and inquiring hands. He looks at his lover, stating simply, “I had a miscarriage, Rodney. On ’129.”

* * *

 _I’m sorry, John,_ Carson had said, _but after this kind of trauma the chances of a second successful pregnancy are significantly reduced, the risks of complications are much higher. If you ever wanted ..._

There might never be a second child and maybe he should be relieved. He has their daughter and he wouldn’t trade her for the universe and they are family, they are whole, yet - (sometimes, sometimes he’d wistfully dreamed) - yet he had never truly faced that possibility, that fear before. Never found reason to. Never been forced to. Carson had offered to show him numbers, to discuss details, but John hadn’t managed to listen.

He’d slept through most of the journey home.

* * *

“What?” For the first time in weeks, Rodney actually whispers.

Putting it clearly, silver words in a box all nicely ordered and ironed out, almost like it’s the other way around, the omega offers explanations mentally practiced in front of mirrors; “They had to remove it surgically.”

“... John. Oh god. Oh my god, John. When - I mean, how long...?”

And he doesn’t want to answer but says, “I didn’t know until they told me. After the ... Afterwards. On the Daedalus.” And it’s gone now, it’s gone, it’s over. And he can see in Rodney’s face, brimming with emotion, how he wants to scream: _You should’ve told me! You should have let me know right away! You should have let me know!_

Should have.

They should be past hiding by now, be past sneaking around, past deceit. So he lets Rodney vent for a bit, noise slamming against his eardrums. In a weird way it’s soothing. Rodney’s stricken voice is more real than silence.

* * *

“It’s my fault! If I’d shut down the machine quicker -”

“Stop. Just _stop.”_

* * *

He hasn’t cried in years.

* * *

“Do. Do you,” Rodney asks hesitantly (once his pulse has gone down slightly), which is rare for him and the words following are painfully sweet in their cruelty; “Do you want to hold a memorial service or, or something?”

“No. It wasn’t -” _(It.)_ “- I was only eight days along. There isn’t anything left.”

It’s not important.

* * *

_If you ever wanted ..._

* * *

Next day, reports have been written and filed in empty emotionless words, and video recordings made to be sent back to Earth to the families of the dead, caskets alongside them, dog tags polished. The service is brief and John staggers into his dress blues at dawn and enters the gate room steadily, with confidence, without fear. They’ve lost many people during their time in Pegasus but this time it was unusually cruel and unexpected, the men killing their own; a uselessly wasteful way to die.

Elizabeth’s speech is heartfelt and true; but John doesn’t listen too closely, merely staring at the caskets as they are carried through the Stargate and disappear, and he can only see the wormhole ending abruptly, a thread suddenly cut off, candlelights extinguished.

For a few minutes no one moves. He should say something, something good and wise just like Elizabeth; heighten the morale; it’s part of his duty. Say something. About how they were good men needlessly lost in war. How that is no reason to despair because life goes on, no stars have stopped revolving because of bullets and hallucinatory machines. How they’ve survived tragedy and catastrophe before. And he says it as he should, as he wrote down this morning before heading out (after a long sleepless night). And Rodney stares at him hollowly and they both know that he’s not thinking about the dead marines as he speaks.

“... and they will be missed.”

* * *

Maybe the void could be filled with anger and closed up like a seam, in time.

* * *

On the way out of the gate room, Ronon stumbles onto him - or the other way around; it doesn’t matter. Either way he’s pulled steadily to his feet again and the Satedan doesn’t demand answers for the shadows in his eyes, doesn’t demand him to tell the world of what’s occurred; but his hand on his back is strong and safe.

“Spar?” he suggests; not, _You should probably lie down and cry (and tell me about it)._

Grateful, John follows, relieved to get out of dress blues. He’s never been good at talking anyhow.

* * *

It takes six days before he lets Teyla know. She’s good at listening and won’t spread word around, will keep things secret if asked, but he still hesitates. He probably shouldn’t.

Without telling him to forgive or forget or blame anyone, but murmuring that life is like a journey through the Stargate (sometimes the wormhole shuts down before all is through), she lays her palms on his shoulders and presses her forehead against his.

* * *

Rodney doesn’t know what to do. He avoids the subject like a plague, and John is torn between relief and wanting follow when the alpha makes excuses to leave the room and get more coffee. And while part of him wants to hear Rodney say things like, _Go ahead and forget it._ It would, in a way, be more real if he’d scream, if he’d cry and laugh and banter, like before. Now Rodney is all quiet and everyone wonders why there is so little yelling involved when he’s down in the labs. Everybody wonders.

John refuses to let anybody else know. But one day maybe Rodney will slip up and shout; maybe one moment soon it’ll all be revealed and then everyone will start glancing at him pityingly and offer condolences with too soft voices.

Instead John just wants the past and normality and he wants to head back out in the field without guilt nagging at his bones restlessly. He wants to be able to close his eyes without seeing any dreams. Just. Return home.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It has been a little over two weeks since - since _then_ (he dares not think of it too much, dares not think of the address because it’s branded into his mind and he risks breaking down like a dam holding back a flood if he allows himself to remember it). He’s spent hours and hours at the gym, even more than usual; Ronon and Teyla speak nothing of this, even if Rodney’s a little twitchy, and his marines may be a bit taken aback at how vicious he’s become.

When moving, bantos rods steady in his hands, he can’t remember. Won’t remember.

Slowly - maybe - perhaps one day - the pain will go away.

* * *

Rodney doesn’t know how to cheer him up.

It isn’t like he’s chronically grieving or angry. It’s more of a silence - a hum, a white noise constantly there beneath John’s laid-back exterior. He smiles, he jokes, no one suspecting a thing but Rodney sees that something’s off, sees it in his eyes and at night John curls up in a manner he hadn’t before, pressed close to the alpha’s side. He doesn’t speak about it, doesn’t say a word, just - lies there stiff and cold and quiet and sometimes, sometimes Rodney catches his eyes gleaming wetly, his hands holding Marie not quite steady.

His runs with Ronon are longer than before.

Rodney wishes there was something he could do. But what? John won’t talk. Rodney wouldn’t know what to say anyhow. Words aren’t his thing and this is no calculation that can be finished and solved, this is no law of physics that he can rewrite.

He can’t deal with this silence.

* * *

It has been a little over two weeks, and then one of the teams find a final gate they can use for the intergalactic bridge. It’s picked up by the Daedalus and installed in the void, and that takes several days and Rodney spends hours hunched over his computer busy with finely honed calculations. This is important to them all. The bridge will allow them to dial Earth without draining as much power and cut travel time down significantly.

But on one level John is uneasy about the whole thing. Sure, he understands the practicality of it; they can now get supplies and send messages more regularly and at lower costs. But the thought of Earth is to him now cold, distant; the planet holds no warm place in his heart and he doesn’t want it any closer than it is.

There’s a freedom on Atlantis found nowhere else, and he fears that by taking Earth closer means putting that freedom at risk.

* * *

The maiden voyage via the bridge is to commence, with him as its test pilot - apparently at Weir’s insistence; and she doesn’t know, not yet, he hasn’t found the words to tell her and doesn’t want her pity but still, for a moment he wonders if she knows, if she’s trying to lift his spirits somehow. But then she knows him, knows how he loves to fly and must have simply assumed this is what he’d have liked to do.

And part of him is overjoyed; flying is what he’s meant for and when flying even such a short distance it gives him some means of distraction.

It can help him forget.

The test flight goes without incident; in one moment jumper three travels from Atlantis’ gate room to the newly completed Midway station - still just an empty shell, not the space station with artificial gravity it will one day become - and from it, Pegasus a dim green light behind him, John can see the spiral shape of the Milky Way, brighter than any other stars at the far distance; in the void between galaxies there is nothing but vacuum. Then he finds himself inside Cheyenne Mountain.

The debrief is swift, for which he is thankful, and the Earth scientists get all grabby-hands with the data recorded by the jumper; John has little to add and, thankfully, the IOA has no interest in keeping him there so General Landry and O’Neill let him go quickly enough. And as he dials Midway his heart is soaring with relief. All went well and he’s eager to return home.

No one had noticed - or questioned - the slight shadows under his eyes. No one knows how badly he’s been sleeping.

There are no such details in the reports that they sent during the funeral. General O’Neill doesn’t mention the dead marines because it’s been weeks now and they’ve all moved on (they have no other choice) and John is glad, because if there’d been questioning now he’s not sure how long he’d last.

Soon he’ll be home again. He makes plans already of going to the East pier, to that isolated spot he and Rodney has gone to countless times to have a moment for themselves, and there the waves of the ocean will sooth him, he hopes. But the plans are quickly crushed when Colonel Caldwell orders him aboard the Daedalus instead of dialling to Atlantis from Midway.

Apparently, something out there in the void is on the move at point nine-nine-nine the speed of light.

* * *

“It’s an Ancient warship, possibly Aurora-class!” Rodney exclaims excitedly.

John looks at him. “Ancient? You sure? And it’s still operational?

“More than that. I mean, we cannot get any clear readings from their speed but it’s possibly that ship isn’t just running on automatic," Rodney goes on, glee written all over his face. "We need to find a way to make contact. I’m pretty sure we’ll find live Ancients aboard that ship!"

And due to relativity, the passengers aboard are still alive and unknowing that the siege of Atlantis is over and the city has risen from the ocean, sitting on the edge of a new war with the Wraith and the many sundry bad guys out there.

* * *

The Captain of the Tria, as the ship is called, is an alpha named Helia and she allows herself and a number of her crew to be beamed aboard the Earth vessel as soon as they’ve slowed down enough for the Daedalus to catch up. Their hyperdrive isn’t functioning and, though capable to reach almost the speed of light, the Tria is stuck between galaxies and the Daedalus is their only way to get to Atlantis (or anywhere). John figures they’re pretty grateful about this chance meeting.

They’re still young - not like the withered crew of the Aurora they’d found in stasis. These Ancients (though they do not call themselves that) are very much alive, though tired; from their point of view a handful of years have passed, no more. Centuries have been forgotten around them as they’ve slowly traversed the void.

They left at the end of the war for Earth (or Terra, they call it); Atlantis had sunk by then and evacuations were underway. Still, Captain Helia and her people turn pale and silent for a moment when the Earthlings deliver the news that their people never returned. That there are no Ancients on Earth, only their descendants, and the City was found just recently, the shield near failure, the Wraith sleeping but not for long.

Helia startles out of silence then. “They were in hibernation but were woken?”

Sudden shame swelling in his chest, John looks away, glad that Caldwell’s doing most of the talking right now. He swallows harshly as the commander of the Daedalus says, “Yes. There was an incident which caused them to wake about three years ago and they’re all over the Pegasus galaxy by now, in great numbers, Captain Helia.”

“That is unfortunate news.”

“Indeed.”

There is other talk that John tunes out, his mate excitedly repeating what discoveries their expedition has made and talking about Earth and eventually a deal is settled to tow the Tria back to Atlantis. It’ll take a while but it’s the only way, really; they cannot leave the Tria hanging between galaxies at the risk of it - however slim - being discovered by an enemy and its technology exploited. Secondly, the Ancient crew is rather large and the life-support system of the Daedalus cannot handle them all on the journey. Captain Helia lets two of her people - John never catches their names, but one of them is apparently second-in-command - be beamed back onto the Tria, while the woman lingers with eight others of her crew. They seem to familiarize themselves with the bridge of the Daedalus fairly quickly, a mixture of praise and frowns on their faces; to them, John figures, the Earth technology is still taking it’s first baby steps, though it’s come a long way from stone knifes and cave drawings; the blend with Asgardian technology is a beautiful mesh and they understand that since in the long past the Ancients had dealings with them. It doesn’t take them long to make contact with Hermiod, and all the while Rodney trails on their tails, hanging onto every word intently, recording every hint onto his datapad for further investigation.

Of course, Rodney does his fair share of bragging and criticizing as well. Just because they’re Ancients it doesn’t stop him from talking - more like the other way around. In away, John is soothed by that; his Rodney isn’t subdued at all and keeps questioning and debating and John can, through that, hang around in the background and go unnoticed. At least for a little while.

* * *

There are no betas among the Ancients. They don’t seem to be familiar with the concept of betas, really, only they say they’ve encountered it among humans sometimes, long ago, on worlds now gone or evolved; that in the beginning where were no betas, that they were never meant to be; there was meant to be balance.

Among the Ancients, there is a sense of equality; but just among themselves because they can’t seem to help but frown at the humans around them, thinking them young and naive and not as evolved as them. Still, John is a cross between astonished and happy when it turns out that many of Tria’s key members are omega. Caldwell, of course, asks about this in a vaguely subtle manner and Captain Helia just looks at him then, saying, "I see much has not changed among humans then," and then her eyes flicker towards John briefly.

He doesn’t say anything, just shrugs;  _That’s life._

* * *

Somewhere along the line Rodney tells Helia about the ATA-gene, so rare now on Earth or anywhere else, and they find out that John is a strong natural carrier and then they take notice of him. He never really expect to be approached.

He somehow hopes they’ll notice his silence, the shadows in his eyes, and realize that he just can’t - or doesn’t want to - deal right now. That too much is on his mind. But no.

It is a twelve day journey through hyperspace from Midway to Atlantis; Helia and her people have been given quarters of their own, Caldwell apologizing that their standard is not too high compared to Ancient vessels; all grey walls, tight enclosed spaces, not quite enough light - but the Captain smiles then kindly, assuring them that it is more than adequate; they are willing to put up with anything as long as they get to Atlantis. To their home.

Their home. John’s guts knot at the thought. Atlantis _is_ their home.

But it is _his_ home too.

(Perhaps they wish to live side by side with the Earthlings. But John’s got a feeling it isn’t quite their style.)

Ten days left to go, he’s sitting in a corner of the mess hall, quietly reading a magazine he’s managed to borrow since he hasn’t got anything with him in the jumper to read and sipping a cup of what should be coffee but isn’t too good. He tries to be positive and not look at the watch every fifteen minutes because hyperspace journeys are usually long and boring and tedious. He can’t stop thinking about Marie; it’s now dawn over Lantea, and Teyla should be caring for her well - John trusts her implicitly to do that - but what if something happens? What if there’s a sudden Wraith attack? What if there’s a sign of the Replicators? What if -

Gods, he misses her. The feeling is a flame in his chest, burning in and out; he missed his daughter more than the city and the ocean waves, and for a moment he closes his eyes remembering her laugh (right before the test flight he’d left her in Lorne’s care, promising with a grin to be back before nightfall and Evan had assured him he’d protect the girl with his life and John had said he hoped it wouldn’t ever have to come to that -)

“Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard?”

He’s snatched back into reality abruptly, fist tightly wrapped around the cup of coffee, knuckles white. He looks up. It’s not one of Daedalus’ Sergeants seeking his attention, but Captain Helia, her white pristine uniform sticking out like a sore thumb against the grey interior of the ship.

“Yeah, that’s me. Anything I can help you with, Captain?”

She takes seat across him, a tray of food in her hands. “No, Colonel. I would sit here and take my meal with you, if that is all right.”

He cracks his trademark smile and says, “That’s fine.” and hopes there’s nothing broken about his voice. He raises his cup again. If she wants to talk, he’s not sure he wants to answer. Maybe if they talk about flying though, that’d be okay; they’re both pilots. That sort of common ground is good.

For a moment there’s silence. “So, you’ve been Captain of the Tria for awhile, yeah? Relatively speaking,” he adds, because those ten thousand years between galaxies don’t quite count.

“During the War, I was her Captain for nearly eight years,” Helia says evenly, no dark wavering when speaking of the long siege of her homeworld, her galaxy. “From what I can gather you are a pilot as well, Colonel Sheppard.”

“That’s right. Flown about anything I could get a chance to fly," he says, wistfulness creeping into his tone which he can’t stop. “I’ve got to say, the jumpers are probably the sweetest ride I’ve ever handled.”

“I’m sorry - jumpers?”

“Ah. That’s what we call your small ships we found in Atlantis, that can go through the gates. Gateships, I suppose you’d call them.” She nods in understanding. That’s the only sort of name they’ve found in the database for the small vessels, so he figures that’s their old name; the Ancients never really were imaginative naming stuff. “Nothing back on Earth can beat them.”

“Yet, you are not in command of any vessel such as this?”

He nearly bursts out laughing at that. Him ever getting command over a ship? Forget it. Only thanks to Weir and Rodney did he manage to get promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and get his chance to stay in Atlantis; they’ll not make him a higher bird if they can help it, and even if, one day, they got the resources to build more ships he’s never get his hands on the controls and he knows it. No one back on Earth trusts him enough for that, with his hiding and lies and issues with following orders. It’d make headlines for sure, if the SGC ever got declassified: _Air Force omega turned commander of intergalactic vessel._

“Nope. It probably’ll not happen either.”

Helia must’ve seen his expression though, because she frowns. "I admit,” she says, pausing, "that there is much I have learned that confounds me. I have yet to find another omega on board with a rank such as yours.”

“Well, to be honest, you’re not going to find one,” John supplies, putting down his empty cup on the table, glancing out the windows at the streaks of blue. “People back on are, well, not fond of us in service. I just sort of managed to ... get a foot in anyway.” He looks at her, quietly for a moment, trying to gauge her reaction. “I guess that’s not how it works for you guys.”

He’s surprising himself with the ease that he finds himself talking. For some reason, he feels ... safe. This isn’t one of his marines, however trustworthy, nor is it one of his team-members or someone from the Daedalus. This is a stranger, yes, an Ancient stranger who’s been stuck in space for ten millennia. There’s a string of data in their DNA that is the same. He wonders, briefly, if this woman had family that escaped and survived, if she’s somehow distantly related to him, responsible for his gene.

What did she leave behind on Atlantis? Did she have family, a mate, children?

He dares not ask. He doesn’t want to bring up dark memories.

“No. We would not limit ourselves thusly. We need all able-bodied people to help on the War,” Helia says, “and your ways clearly would cut our number of soldiers in half. Is this a universal rule of your homeworld?”

“Well, there are certain counties ...” John’s not sure how to explain all of Earth’s differing nations in one smart sentence. Teyla would be so much better at this. “It’s complicated. Atlantis is different though. Eliza... Dr Weir thinks differently, and I think even Colonel Caldwell might be warming up on me.” She raises a questionable eyebrow at that. “Well, she’s a civilian for one so the rules don’t quite apply and she’s really adamant about her decisions; she wanted me as military CO of the base, she got them to agree to her terms. Caldwell’s more old-fashioned but I’ve worked with him for some time now and maybe he’ll even accept that I’m mated. Not that we’re enemies or anything. Just, well, the brass have never have to deal with an omega in command of a base before, and then there was the issue with Marie...” He trails off and looks away. He never meant to reveal that much - it’s just, he hasn’t talked of any of this with anyone, not for a long while, and there’s a stone in his heart slowly dissolving with each word.

Helia remains silent for a while. Pausing to let him continue. “Rodney and I’ve got a daughter back on Atlantis. That’s the biggest issue really ... Many folks back on Earth are concerned with the effect she has on my performance as CO.”

He’s never revealed to a stranger his daughter and her name before. Not ever. Not on a single mission. It’s ... strangely refreshing to do so.

“The ways of your people are indeed strange, Colonel Sheppard,” Helia tactfully comments and he’s glad there are no more questions rising.

“It’s just the way it is,” John shrugs. “I’m lucky. I could’ve been given a dishonourable discharge long ago and instead, here I am, exploring space. A couple of years ago I didn’t even know about the Stargates, then I sat in the wrong damn chair - they figured I’ve got the ATA-gene; I suppose McKay told you about the gene?”

“Yes. Dr McKay told us many things,” she says and John smiles, a genuine smile, for the first time in too many days; that's his Rodney through and through. He hopes he hasn't annoyed the Ancients _too_ much; they want to be on their side after all. "It is remarkably that you already have found a way to artificially reproduce it. Your species is very young, after all.”

“Dr Beckett’s going to be ecstatic to hear that,” John grins. “He’s the one who figured it out.”

“But you are a natural carrier, are you not?”

“Yeah. No idea from which side of the family tree, though. We didn’t know about the gene until recently so I don’t think there’s much research on that.”

Helia smiles. “But still it is a good sign that you have found it. You are a descendant of my people; a sign that we lived on, even if pitifully briefly. The legacy of my people is not forgotten.”

“You and your crew are here, alive and well, Captain,” John reminds her, “that makes a lot difference.”

Hopefully it will tip the scales somewhat in the battle against the Wraith. If they can fix the Tria, they’ve got themselves another warship. That’s got to count for something.

* * *

All rooms about the Daedalus are tiny and cramped. Trying to fit both himself and Rodney and a laptop which the alpha refuses to let go of onto the same bed is almost impossible. "Rodney," John says, "you can’t keep carrying that around."

"Don’t you understand how invaluable this data is?" his mate retorts at once. They’ve taken as much readings as they could possibly squeeze out of the Ancient vessel, not to mention it’s crew themselves.

"Oh yes I do. But I also know we’re over five days from Atlantis giving you a whole two hundred and fifty hours to spend with those guys. I hope you aren’t pestering them to death."

"What? No, I am not! I just need to find out as much as possible there is to know. There’s a scientist among them, you know, he’s quite clever, uh -"

Despite his annoyance John finds himself smiling fondly. "The guy’s name’s Celestis. Remember?"

Of course his alpha hasn’t taken the time to memorize names, he’s been too busy for that. John hasn’t spent much time around the Ancients, avoiding them as much as possible really, but Captain Helia has joined him for lunch more than once while her crew were spending time with Rodney and some of Caldwell’s men. Sharing the common ground of piloting, they’ve had surprisingly many conversations about flight and battle and Atlantis, and John had learned of her crew while she’d learned about his team, which is the closest thing he’s got.

"Yeah, right. That guy. And the Captain’s got quite a lot of knowledge herself despite being a pilot. Not that all pilots are stupid, you aren’t bad yourself and -"

The lamps here won’t dim with a thought; instead John reaches out and pressed one of the buttons on the nearest wall. "Just go to sleep, Rodney."

* * *

In way, John expected them to accept them. Helia had seemed all right when they spoke; there was never any ill will behind any words, never any heated exclamations.  
Perhaps that should have been a warning.

He should have realized. Because if he returned home to find strangers sitting on his couch, watching his TV and eating his cheerios, he’d also want them out of there.

Still. He’d selfishly _believed._

* * *

“Atlantis is under _our_ control now.”

* * *

He wonders if Helia took especial notice to any words he said in the mess hall on the Daedalus. If perhaps she’s not sending the Earthlings away from Atlantis because the Ancients want their home back for themselves, but because they’re humans - _such a young species,_ as she’d called them - because they’re so young and naive in their eyes. Perhaps they seem too strange and barbaric for them, too simple and low-tech and foreign.

There are ten thousand years between them, after all. And things change with time.

(Not always for the best.)

But none of it matters now. John would have been pissed off and yelled if he could, if he had the energy. But he can’t. He can shout and shout and no one would listen.

* * *

They’ve got forty-eight hours to leave.

It’s too little and yet far too much time.

* * *

His and Rodney’s quarters had begun to grow so warm and homely. The walls are no longer bare but adorned with diplomas (Rodney’s), posters (his), the odd photograph (Chuck has taken a lot of those: of his team and their baby and there are a few reminders of Athosian feasts on the mainland and various off-world missions that didn’t end in disaster) cluttered above the bed; there’s a couple of wall-hangings and curtains woven by Teyla’s kin and one bought from the markets of Balkan, the biggest trading hub of Pegasus. The cradle, so carefully carven, the toys spread about the room - it all has to be dismantled and packed into bags. The nursery they’d so joyfully put together must be returned to its original state as extra lab space or maybe it was a meditation chamber - it doesn't matter what it was.

John doesn’t have the energy to scream in frustration, even if it’s boiling inside him.

While Rodney’s overseeing the packing of the labs, John is trying to fold his life into pieces small enough to fit in boxes to carry back to Earth. One by one the pictures are taken down and the floor cleared. Slowly, the room becomes bare and cold and with little enough furniture his voice and footsteps echo emptily between the walls, causing him to shiver.

It’s like a very bad dream. One there’s no waking up from.

Teyla and Ronon appear a couple of hours later to help out. Teyla has been trying to negotiate with the Ancients via General O’Neill and Mr Woolsey, called in from the SGC to speak on the behalf of Earth, to let her people remain on the mainland but the Ancients want them gone for good, and are already relocating them to another world with its own Stargate. That would be fine and well had they had time, had they wished it themselves, had it been _fair_. Now the Athosians are being ripped from the place that has been their home for two years, from crops they’ve laboured to sow and hunting grounds they’ve learned to know. On the new world they will have to begin from scratch again and John’s ire rises within him when he hears the news - but what can they do? The Ancients have made it clear they don’t wish to negotiate anymore. They think themselves as kind and generous.

John begins to regret spilling so much on the Daedalus, even if Helia probably is stuck up and arrogant and was just pretending to be polite, and she and her people will forget about the Earthlings as soon as the gate shuts down.

"Hey," he mutters, willing himself to stand and grin, "you guys all packed up?"

Ronon buries his hands in the pockets of his leather pants. "Don’t have that much stuff."

"Most of my belongings are already with my people," Teyla says.

All the smiles are fake, and they all know it.

John knows them well enough to realize that now an attempt at a joke or lighthearted conversation won’t matter. Soon he’ll be on Earth and they on New Athos, and they’ll never see each other again. Never speak. Never hear.

Never.

There’s a huge block of ice at the bottom of his stomach.

_Never._

Ronon nearly crushes him in a bear hug, lifting his feet several inches from the ground. Teyla’s embrace is less abrupt but no less sincere, and he savours being in their presence for a precious few more hours. Before all is over. Before the end.

* * *

He hates saying goodbye.

* * *

“I’m leaving with you,” Ronon says firmly.

“You don’t want to be stuck on Earth,” Rodney counters. “Seriously, Ronon. You don’t want that. You’d be bored to hell and you’d never get to shoot any Wraith. They might not even let you outside Cheyenne Mountain or the IOA might decide to keep you in storage in Area 51 or something, and seriously we don’t want that. Is this another guardian thing, never letting him out of your sight even when we’re going to another galaxy? Because I think this is starting to borderline on the obsessive.”

Ronon looks at Rodney levelly, holding his gaze firmly. Understanding. He knows the line of absolution, even if he hates it.

“You look after Sheppard, okay?”

“What do you take me for?” the Canadian exclaims a bit affronted, and that is that.

* * *

Teyla presses her forehead against his in the traditional Athosian fashion and his chest aches and she looks saddened at him, but says, “I am sure our paths will cross in the future, John Sheppard.”

Perhaps she says so because it is meant to be comforting. Perhaps she says so because she knows the people of Earth have managed to do the impossible before. Perhaps

He wishes he could share her certainty.

* * *

Earth is roughly three million lightyears away; eons of eternity, a space so large it cannot be grasped and it’s only another step through the Gate, just one step, and there might be no return. Just one step.

Just one more step.


	4. Chapter 4

They’ve been away from Atlantis for seventy-two hours. It feels like a lifetime.

Was it even remotely possible (which it probably _is,_ given that there are wormholes that can transport you to other _galaxies)_ \- if it was, John would build a time machine and go back there and never make the Ancients aware; forever keeping them locked in a loop at point nine-nine-nine the speed of light.

* * *

They don’t want to be stuck inside Cheyenne Mountain forever and rot, but they just don’t know where to go from here.

Elizabeth flees as soon as the gate shuts down.

John manages to call her, once, after Rodney finds her number somewhere in the SGC database, but she sounds empty and desolate and he doesn’t know how to console her when his soul also is in shambles. He too has lost a home. 

They’d had so many plans, the future right ahead of them. 

The forty-eight hours they’d been given to pack everything up had been too little time, yet too much. Forty-eight hours had been more than enough time to think and remember and regret.

* * *

They’ve been on Earth for three days, stuck in an underground bunker because Rodney’s apartment has long since been rented out to someone else, all of his things stored away in an anonymous building or possibly sold by the landlord, and his cat is dead since six months, buried in someone’s backyard. The first night John quietly admits to his mate that he has no place else, that he’s pretty much always stayed on base. That he hasn’t had a place to call his own until Atlantis.

They settle in together in an awkward, small room on the twentieth level in the Cheyenne Mountain, pushing a cradle into the corner. It’s not ideal; this isn’t the place to call home or keep a baby, as the alarms may go off at any moment, warning of an alien invasion or other crisis. But for the moment it’ll have to do.

Rodney starts searching for apartments and small houses with a nice garden that’s easily maintained with a stern mind-set, and when he focuses like that it’s easier to force away the tears, the frustration and the anger coiling in his blood.

* * *

It’s been five days and they have to decide what to do. Whether to stay. Where to bury all the secrets.

At least if they re-join the Earth community now, and move to some town in Canada and get Marie settled in pre-school, the girl is too young to have any solid memories of Atlantis; she won’t reveal anything classified, and no one (yet) wants to lock her up in a bunker over at Area 51 for being born outside of Earth’s atmosphere.

(And if anyone would even dare to _whisper_ something like that, John would without hesitation shoot them and not in the leg.)

While Landry has offered a place in a gate team for John, here he’ll have few chances to fly unless it’s to be a chauffeur; a fate that doesn’t suit him well. And stepping through the gate in Atlantis with all of its perils was somehow more _justified._ A couple of years ago he’d had said yes right away, but now he has his daughter to think about, and in Atlantis he’d put himself into danger to ensure her safety, to ensure she’d have a home.

Now they’re on the Earth with no going back. Trapped like birds in a cage.

He could quit from the Air Force and the SGC and _everything,_ and instead focus on his family. Marie would be safe. But he hesitates going to General Landry’s office and throwing in the towel. To do so would be admitting complete defeat.

For now, he waits.

* * *

Rodney is torn. He will never be happy in Area 51, where he’s been offered a position and a huge lab and a whole row of people to command. Five years ago he would’ve said yes at once and they think that he hasn’t changed, so when he says flat out _no thank you, good morning and don’t call again,_ without explanation, the morons on the base are baffled.

He’s got other priorities now.

They could run away. Forget about the SGC and Pegasus and Teyla and Ronon. Forget about spaceships and wormholes and the stars. He could take a job teaching physics at some college and buy John a nice car that goes really fast and they could move to a house on the country and raise their daughter in peace, like the perfect little family, hiding from the world.

They could settle down. Exhale. Let go. Forget. _Forget –_

* * *

But John can’t forget.

Every night when tucking Marie into bed, he tells her stories of puddlejumpers and dangerous-looking but big-hearted Satedans and brave, kick-ass Athosians and awed, reckless Lanteans fighting together against the scary aliens and of crisscrossing between worlds. It opens up small cuts in his heart, every word falling from his lips, but he can’t let go.

And he doesn’t cry (just almost) and he and Rodney hold each other tight at night, when no one else sees.

He would’ve made promises if he could have.

* * *

“At least here we’re safe,” he murmurs one evening and Rodney snorts dryly – _yeah, right, the Wraith aren’t the only dangers out there –_ “At least here Marie’s got a future.”

Like there isn’t, wasn’t, a future awaiting her in Pegasus. Like there are no other options, only lies.

He’s twisted in a thousand knots, intangible – a little over two years ago he would have thought it madness if someone had claimed he’d rather live a million lightyears from Earth, that he’d be happy there, that it was possible.

“I still think the Ancients are selfish morons. Without us there’d had been no city for them to return to! We should’ve left the Tria on its course,” Rodney mutters and _yeah_ , John thinks, _you're right._ But Atlantis is the home of the Ancients; not theirs.

It was never theirs. It was all just an illusion.

* * *

They spend an afternoon with Cadman and Lorne, who are both still stuck in the SGC waiting for new assignments, having dinner in the mess. The grey walls are disconcerting.  
Lorne thinks about joining SG-14 and Cadman waits to board the Daedalus; the ship will keep rotating in the Milky Way even if it won’t go back to Pegasus. (Never go back. Return.) But both alphas are torn, even if they don’t say it John can read it in their eyes.

They miss Atlantis. They miss the people there. John’s not sure how they’re all holding up. If they too have become shipwrecks.

Last he saw Carson was when the doctor was helping to patch up Cameron Mitchell after SG-1 had come through the gate two days ago after a rough mission. The Scot and Cadman have planned a romantic dinner in a couple of days and John’s happy for them. At least here they’ll have a chance for a happy ending without interference from the Wraith. On the other hand, Earth is not entirely safe either. No promises can be made of a secure future. Of truly happy endings. (But there are dreams.)

Radek has already left for Area 51, along with several other previous expedition members on orders of the IOA (who are still pestering Rodney about joining them in the desert). So many miles away. Lorne isn’t having an outburst, he’s too mild-mannered for that, he just curses quietly at the quick reassignment of the omega and John knows the alpha misses Zelenka fiercely.

He wonders if the two had ever talked about mating. If they’d talked about something more. If they would’ve acted quicker if they knew this would happen.

But neither of them comments on any of this, and Rodney chooses to complain about the newest guy in the research lab where the scientist is helping out instead of mentioning planets and ZPMs and Ancients. John lets them hold Marie for a bit – it’s still difficult to let the girl go, to let others take care of her, even after all this time. Cadman is delighted (she still teases Rodney about that incident with the dart, subtle comments that makes Rodney’s face burn) and Lorne’s hesitant at first, but holds the kid naturally once he relaxes, and John thinks the alpha would make a great dad – but he doesn’t say it, knowing such a comment now would only be painful.

This is the last time they’ll see each other for a long while.

* * *

He wonders what the others are up to. If Ronon and Teyla ever look up at the sky and remember them, seeking the Milky Way with wistful gazes mirroring his own, even though the faraway galaxy probably cannot be seen with the naked eye from New Athos.

* * *

The discussion of what to do next grows heated when John considers going back to the house where he grew up, because he’s pretty sure that Dave is sticking around as the ever-faithful son.

“Dave? Who’s Dave?” Rodney’s face darkens for a bit and really, he’s almost _ridiculously_ possessive - but then again, so is John, so he can’t fault him for it.

“My brother.”

”Hang on, what? Your _brother?”_ Rodney splutters. “Since when did you have a brother and why haven’t you ever mentioned him before?”

“It’s – it’s complicated.” They’ve never been joined at the hip. “I haven’t actually spoken with him for the last nine years or so.”

Rodney is a mix of thoughtful and curious. “That makes even _me_ seem like a better brother. Which is saying something.”

“Oh, thanks,” John retorts dryly, but lets it pass, as Rodney tells him he’s got a sister somewhere in Vancouver that he hasn’t seen for four years, and oh, apparently he has a niece too but he has never seen any photos.

“I guess we’re both as flawed in the sibling relationship department,” John muses. But now they’re back on Earth – possibly forever – there’s time to make changes.

* * *

The last thing John said to Dave (duffel bag in hand, standing on the porch after his father had shut the door) was _I’ll let you know if something comes up._

He had send a letter once, right before he left the Academy with above average results (receiving raised eyebrows and surprised mutters, _just an ordinary beta, that one, surprisingly smart but too terribly stubborn; he’ll never make it anywhere near Major_ ), before he was shipped off to his first real assignment, an unfamiliar base. He’d waited for weeks, wondering if it’d been the right thing to do, if Dave probably just would have wanted to cut all ties. He’d flown for miles and miles and miles.

The reply had come eventually, short and curt and surprised.

When he’d been stationed in Afghanistan, he’d received a crisp message, an invitation to his brother’s wedding, but then there was another mission and another bomb going off and he couldn’t get off base in time.

He’d found a number and called and apologized, voice estranged, and gotten a photograph in return. Dave had looked happy on the square picture, his wife by his side white and perfect in her shimmering wedding dress. Then the years went on, and he got more and more rooted in the shootings and the dark days and the secrets. But despite their distance, despite the fact that a single word from his brother or father could snatch him away from the Air Force in point three seconds, they never slipped to anyone his status as omega. They never let anyone know.

They never gave him away. They could have – but choose not to.

John had always hesitated to take it as a sign that his father wanted to him to be happy, despite his choices. Despite pushing away his responsibilities to the family company, maybe Patrick Sheppard had this tiny wish for things to be okay again between them, to forgive the years they’d yelled at one another, to forget how the door had slammed shut and the keys thrown out of John’s reach.

* * *

“A road trip to visit my sister and your brother? What good could that possibly bring?”

“It’s not like we’ve got anything else to do.”

Anywhere else to go.

“Well,” Rodney says, at length. “I suppose. The worst thing that could happen is that she’s still pissed and we’ve got to rent a room at a motel, at which we’ll watch a couple of movies or you know, stuff, visit a fair so you could ride one of your beloved Ferris Wheels until something better comes up.”

“There, see, now we’re talking.”

* * *

Still, John feels a bit like a hypocrite, and sits in front of his laptop for five hours, pausing only to care for Marie’s needs, trying to formulate a message. A warning that _Yeah hi Dave, we’re going to come visit you soon, my mate and daughter and I, because we’ve been kicked out of base and are homeless and desperate and I hope that’s OK with you. Signed, John_. (Possibly signing it off with something along the lines of: _PS. Aliens are real_.)

But he can’t come up with anything appropriate to say and he doesn’t even have Dave’s email address and even if Rodney could with ease find it in less than two minutes - he still has no words, no excuses. And in the end he shuts down the mostly empty screen just as Rodney returns from a long discussion with the Generals; John isn’t sure about what exactly, but he catches mutterings of _idiots_ and _quitting_ and _disclosure agreements my ass_ , which tells him all he needs to know.

* * *

The last thing Rodney said to Jeannie was something along the lines of _How could you be so **moronic** as to leave behind those years of studies and physics and science and clear numbers just to marry an English major and how could you get yourself get knocked up when you might’ve become an unhindered genius and **why** –_

And then Jeannie had cut him off and called him an insensitive egoistic bastard and hung up.

In hindsight, Rodney guesses he deserved it. Pretty badly, in fact. He’d been even less socially capable then and he’d always been at odds with his sister, because she was smart, she was clever but never as selfish or stupid as he, she said the right things at the right moment; what she did was good. Rodney was the progeny, the brilliant child, the boy who played the piano with precise fingers but without a feeling for art (too cold and distant, they said, _you’ll never be good enough_ ). He’d left the music for the numbers and the stars.

And she’d been such an idiot, leaving the numbers for a man that Rodney assumed – at the time; he recalls little of him now – had an IQ lower than fifty and a creepy taste for tofurkey. He just couldn’t _get it_ , not back then. How a heart can throb and you can abandon everything for one single person. He hadn’t mated back then, not once. Sex, hell yeah, and he’d lusted after people but never been in love. He’d never shared his soul, never wished or dared to.

But times pass.

People change.

* * *

They still haven’t found a house to occupy (to claim. To live in. To mark as theirs.) 

After being on Earth for twelve days, an eternity, they leave Colorado, the highway blurring under the tyres. Marie is content with the speed. Rodney falls asleep after eighty miles, but John keeps staring at the road, determined to continue, to go on, to move.  
Atlantis is a dream away.

* * *

They stop in a small town by the Canadian border, the sky dark, and Rodney frowns disdainfully at the rundown walls of the motel but they’re tired and out of options. Here they can be anonymous. Here they can become almost like shadows.

The hostess behind the desk smiles at seeing the little girl in Rodney’s arms as John books the room. The omega smiles back politely, his trademark cocky self on the outside even if on the inside he hasn’t quite recovered.

* * *

He sleeps restlessly, twisting and turning, hoping to wake up from this horrible dream. (No one pinches his arm.)

And sometimes, his insides ache all over again - sometimes it’s painful heat but, mostly, it’s a sharp coldness, an emptiness spreading from within. And he thinks of empty caskets and cut-off wormholes. Of grains of sand creeping under his skin. Of that tiny life - (he tries forgetting. pushing it aside. he tries, he tries, _he tries_ ) - ripped out of him.

It has been so many weeks now. Days and days and days. There is so much more than a home that he’s lost.

(Fifty years from now he still may not be able to forget.)

* * *

In Vancouver, spring is slowly creeping over the landscape. It’s rather beautiful, but John sees little of it. The sky above them here is not the one wrapped around Lantea. This is not his sky.

Two miles before their destination, Marie fusses for a bit and they have to pull up at the local gas station which is desolate and empty save for the half-asleep cashier, and the infant doesn’t stop crying until she’s given the breast for the umpteenth time. John realizes how tired he is, not just in body but in _soul,_ almost like someone’s pulled it out of him as well and tramped on it careless of the pain.

It’s seven PM when they arrive at the address that Rodney’s pretty sure is the correct one. The alpha fiddles with the collar of his shirt as he rings the bell, muttering that _This is a bad idea, we should find a hotel instead, this is so stupid, why the hell did I agree to this?_ right as the door is opened by a woman with brown curls.

There’s a resemblance to Rodney, sure; they have the same sort of clear eyes full of purpose and thought, but her posture is less aggressive, calmer, not as nervous

“Uh, hi,” Rodney says awkwardly and the woman stares.

_“Meredith?”_

Meredith? Huh. The alpha’s never told him that, even when they know pretty much everything else about each other. John raises an eyebrow and Rodney fidgets with his empty pockets.

“Er, yeah. I – um. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, a while,” she echoes, stilted, and John thinks that maybe it was a bad idea, a very bad idea, but now it’s too late. And if Rodney can get a chance at repairing his relationship with his sister, then John maybe could make amends with his brother and father; and then living on Earth might not be so bad, considering.

“Hi. I’m John, John Sheppard,” he steps up holding out his hand, excluding all titles because they’ve ceased to matter, and the woman takes it after a moment of hesitation and disbelief (she glances at Rodney and John sees her thoughts then, in her wide eyes). “I’ve worked with _Meredith,”_ he drawls the name in a perfect Californian accent and Rodney shifts uncomfortably, knowing what questions will come later, once John gets the chance to tease him; “for a while in - on the base we’re stationed at.”

“Jeannie Miller. It’s, it’s nice to meet you. But, Mer,” she turns to her brother, “four years. Four. _Years._ And now you turn up unannounced and expect me to hold open the door without – ”

And she notices the girl at last, slumbering against John’s chest, “ – Oh my god, Meredith,” she breathes, like _How the hell did this happen?_ even if it’s not really strange at all except for the part that most siblings let each other know when they have mated and formed a family. At least she had sent him an email, as short and angry as it were, about Madison.

“Yeah,” Rodney says, avoiding her eyes. “Meet Marie Sheppard-McKay, our daughter.”

* * *

Dinner is painfully awkward. Jeannie’s husband Kaleb glares at Rodney distrustfully so it’s obviously no secret that the two siblings have been estranged.

John feels a bit like sitting between two knives slanted downward, or trapped with a gun with the safety off pointed at his head, and tries to make small talk but it’s difficult to come up with topics that don’t involve flying cities and helicopters. Kaleb probably feels much the same way, struggling to rid of the tension with the occasional comment of _Yes isn’t it nice that these beans are eco-friendly?_ and _How nice that it isn’t raining today._

Jeannie’s daughter Madison is four years old and were Marie older, the two could’ve played and helped breaking the ice. John knows his daughter and takes care of her with secure hands, but he’s not sure exactly how to act around another kid. There are no four year olds in Atlantis – were not.

Were not. Anymore. (Will not be.)

“So … are you still working on some top secret project you can’t talk about?” Jeannie asks her brother. Meredith. John still hasn’t wrapped his head around that. The name is oddly fitting, not merely an endearment. It’s a remnant, a shadow of a former life.

“Uh, yeah, sort of.”

“The people originally inhabiting the base we worked on returned and kicked us out basically,” John supplies vaguely. “So right now, we’re … waiting around for something to happen.”

Jeannie nods like she understands even if she might not. She looks alarmed when she realizes they’ve been raising a baby on a military base. She doesn’t know about the aliens or the threats of bombs or the lightyears of travel - John wonders how she’d react if ever got to know exactly what her brother has been up to. How many lives Rodney has saved. The number of his kills. That he’s destroyed solar systems.

(He wonders how Dave would react if he were ever to know that his brother has been fighting among the stars.)

“Yeah,” Rodney says, a croak of not-really-but-almost pain escaping him at the reminder. “Waiting. And we’re also sort of searching for a place to live, because a base isn’t exactly the place to raise a child. So. How are things for you, Jeannie?”

He stops himself before he accidentally says something insulting.

* * *

 _“Meredith?”_ John drawls with a raised eyebrow as the dishes have been put away and they carry in their bags from the car.

“Shut up. I prefer Rodney. It’s my first name, sure, but more of - of an affectionate nickname. Yeah. Surely everyone have their own embarrassing secrets.” The alpha glances at him. “Come on, even you have to have some weird middle name you never mention.” - “Oh yeah,” John cuts in, smiling, “everybody’s been calling me the next Kirk.” - at which his mate rolls his eyes, exasperatedly; “Don’t you _start._ But, honestly, even you must’ve been called terribly humiliating things as a kid. Unless you’re one of those who pushed the other kids in the hallways.”

“Now you’re unfairly generalizing. I was never a bully.”

He’s never saved any photos so of course Rodney has no idea how tiny and scrawny and ridiculous he was as a pre-teen up until he hit his growth spurt by fifteen, with untameable hair and too many freckles. When adding to that the keeping of secrets and an eccentric love for math and flying, and the shifting of schools every second month, he’d never really found a place he’d liked, with people he’d liked and dared to grow to care for.  
Not until Atlantis. And it’s all over now and John’s heart clenches bittersweetly.

“Well,” he admits, “there that one time I put chewing gum in Mrs Hill’s hair. Maths teacher in sixth grade.”

“No _really._ Very original – really, I’m astounded at your level of creativity,” Rodney comments, rolling his eyes but his tone is a bit lightened, if not droning with sarcasm, and it’s a bit of an improvement. “What’d she do to you? Give you an F in a calculus test?”

“Nope, I just didn’t like how she glared at people. With that hissing voice she kind of reminds me of a Wraith Queen, y’know, just - creepier.”

Rodney really doesn’t need the image of a young Sheppard facing down teachers looking like Wraith. He’s got plenty of nightmares anyway.

* * *

“You still think it was mistake coming here?” John asks once they’ve tucked Marie in in the makeshift bedding.

Tonight they don’t whisper her any stories, because even if the Millers if overhearing would only think is a silly children’s story picked up someplace faraway, it’s too dangerously close to breaching every security clearance they’ve signed. It only reminds them terribly much of home.

“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet,” Rodney answers, pulling off his jeans – it’s been ages since he last wore anything but the standard dress uniforms of Atlantis and the material feels foreign against his legs – and crawling into the bed. At least there’s a guestroom that Jeannie reluctantly prepared for them, so they don’t have to waste more money on a hotel room.

“She didn’t seem _that_ pissed.”

“Oh, she’s probably just not throwing tantrums because she doesn’t like yelling in front of the kids. She said she wanted to have a _private conversation_ tomorrow.”

“Wear a TAC vest and load your nine mill?” John suggests in a soft murmur (nevermind they haven’t got any gear with them), and Rodney rolls his eyes, their legs and hands entwining. The mattress is rather thin and uncomfortable.

“It shouldn’t be that bad. Well, relatively speaking. Honestly, we’ve faced Wraith and the Genii and I’ve had another person in my head so facing my sister should be a piece of cake – but, fuck, John, she’s _right._ I’ve been a jerk. For _years.”_

“No surprises there, Meredith,” the omega chuckles dryly but sobers a little, and adds, “I can stand guard.”

It’s just a silly little promise, but it causes Rodney to smile anyway. “Okay. I suppose we could always blow our way out of here if all goes to hell. I still’ve got my emergency transmitter linked to the Daedalus which is still in orbit. (It never hurts to be prepared.)”

* * *

It doesn’t go all to hell, albeit John hears little of the private conversation because afterwards Rodney is unusually subdued and he refuses to speak of it. They stay until breakfast; then Jeannie distractedly says she’s got to get Madison to pre-school and Kaleb has work to do and John takes the hint pretty quickly. They’ve come at the wrong time.

(It’s almost always the wrong time.)

Packing doesn’t take long. While Rodney transfers their bags back to the car, Jeannie joins John on the threshold, her husband helping Madison put on her jacket.

“You really are mated? I mean – no offence but, you’re not exactly the sort of person I expected Meredith to be with,” the woman says, hesitantly.

“You’re not the first to say that. Rodney’s, well – he’s pretty special.”

Rodney’s nearing them again, and Jeannie steps back but murmurs _I’m just not sure what to do,_ before she’s out of John’s hearing range; _I’m just not sure what to do._

 _You’re not the only one_ , he thinks but doesn’t say it out loud.

She looks relieved at seeing them go.


	5. Chapter 5

” _That_ ,” Rodney loudly proclaims, waving his right hand to emphasize, “is not a house.”

“’Course it is.”

“It is not a house. It’s an, an anomaly. You never told me you grew up in a fucking _mansion_. With stables. And fifteen acres of land and, and those silly fountain sculptures -”

John tunes him out as he steers the car up the five hundred meter long gravel road up to the patio. The big slab of rock that makes up the main building brings back memories in black and white; of a woman with her hair tied back into a strict knot and a man with a grave face; of running across the lawn shrieking with laughter with his brother on his heels. And then - a sudden sharp silence, his father clad in black, his mother’s dark casket, Dave’s stricken eyes.

He sighs.

This is a sphere he doesn’t belong in, but there’s movement behind the tall windows and now it’s too late to back off .

And if Rodney managed to face his sister, then John can do this. He can do this.

* * *

It takes a moment to recognize the old man answering the door. Their butler was forty years old when John left ( _had to leave)_ , tall and proud; now he’s bent by age and worries and a deep frown is set in the middle of his forehead – but his scent is unchanged, giving him away. It takes no moment at all for the man to recognize him, and there’s surprise and suspicion and a little bit of relief. Then again, old Bill had always been kind to him.

Introductions are awkward even if the butler doesn’t look disapproving as he eyes the alpha by John’s side.

“Your father is not available at the moment, Mr Sheppard,” the man says airily. Probably wondering whatever John has planned to say to the old man (if any words are planned at all).

John is far too aware of Rodney’s wide eyes and the nervous elbow pressed against his side, and awkwardly shifts the girl further up his misfit hip. “Is Dave here?”

The old man looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, then nods, and John’s guts clench (but he has to stop putting things off). “Please step into the foyer while I fetch Mr Sheppard.”

* * *

“ _John_?”

And Dave stares, disbelieving, the difference between now and when they’d arrived at the Millers’ is that now they’re already sitting in the living room silently waiting as Dave comes home from work unsuspecting. Rodney introduces himself, PhD, PhD, but John knows his brother’s in too much shock to take it all in – all of these years, not even a phone-call - and the omega quietly steels himself for the future detonation that will be his father.

(There will be no failsafes to prevent that explosion.)

“I meant to send an email, but.” But what? He’s got no excuses. Nothing he can say. All he has are pretences and lies and classified information. “Things got in the way,” he finishes lamely and Dave looks torn like he can’t decide if he should raise his voice or not, if it’s okay to tear at his hair or ruin his perfectly pressed suit.

“Where the hell have you _been_? There’s no fucking way you’ve been on base all this time. No way,” Dave says, a rush of words heated with anger and John winces.

“I’ve been on base. In Antarctica. The details are classified.”

“That’s it? That same old excuse all over again.”

His brother shakes his head, seeking denial, seeking proof, and John wishes he could say: _I’ve been fighting aliens and lived in a city that can fly. I’ve been experiencing wonderful terrifying things you couldn’t even begin to imagine._

“They can never have let you stay when they found out, which they must have, evidently,” Dave goes on, gesturing at the child and at Rodney, who looks like he’s itching to speak up but patiently lets the Sheppards continue and in a way John is glad for his support, that he’s stayed in the room but another part of him is ashamed of having his mate to witness this. He and Dave never really repaired their falling out. No wholehearted attempts were made (no attempts at all). “When –?”

“Last year,” is the vague answer he can give, his head muddling over the months in Atlantis and translating them to Earth-time. “I had Marie in October.”

Dave mutters something alike a curse, just within hearing range, which is very unlike his usually cool, perfect demeanour. He takes a shaky breath. “John, this isn’t – this isn’t the kind of thing dad is going to take in stride.”

“Yeah. I know.” _Far too well._

But that bridge will have to be crossed, too.

“When’s he due back?” John asks.

“Tomorrow, probably. Business trip.”

Rodney pokes at the thick carpet with his toe and wishes this to be over soon so they could have a cup of proper coffee and go to sleep. Hearing the strain in John’s voice is draining and he wishes he could somehow charge both himself and his mate up like batteries.

“Why are you here?”

The question is sharp in its simplicity and John winces, wishing he could tell all truths, uncover all lies and hidings. “It’s – The details are classified.”

“That too, huh.”

Then Dave’s eyes narrow suspiciously, gaze travelling from John’s face to Rodney and the child all-over again, like a circle. “You’re not on the run, John? John. Don’t you fucking tell me that you’ve disobeyed orders or had yourself discharged because of, of _this_!” The man gestures at his family and Rodney can’t understand how John can sit there so calmly and take the accusations without even twitching, eyes dark and face entirely calm. “I can’t house two runaways –”

“It’s nothing like that!” Rodney snaps, barely biting back _you fucking dim-witted moron_. “Your brother’s the CO of a three-hundred man strong base and he’s saved countless lives and deserves far more credit than the moronic brass have given him because an annoyingly small number of people out there willing to accept the fact that a man can be both a parent and a hero, and awesome at both at that. We are not runaways, Mr Sheppard. In fact –”

“Rodney, shut up.”

“All I’m saying is –”

“McKay.”

And Dave keeps staring but for another reason now and John hopes that one day, one day Dave will understand. That one day he can tell him the full truth. That one day he can show him a Stargate and say: _This is what I do, Dave, this is my life._

“You swear you’re not on the run from the Air Force or the government or anything else … anything else dangerous like that?”

“I swear.”

He’s not on the run from anyone but himself.

“Well,” Dave says, exhaling, “I’ll let Bill help you unpack and settle in.” And he makes some half-hearted excuse before he rises to his feet, quickly leaving, glancing a final time over his shoulder like making sure he’s not hallucinating.

* * *

There’s a surprisingly small amount of yelling involved when Patrick Sheppard returns home to find his youngest son waiting in the grand living room alongside his mate and daughter.

His father doesn’t say _I’m proud of you_ but John isn’t disillusioned and he never expected such words anyhow. What he gets to hear is _This isn’t what I expected, son_ with this foreign far-away hint of _Your family has missed you_ , and even if John isn’t entirely sure it is true, it’s enough to know that amends can yet be made – that there’s a chance.

He replies: _I’m sorry (but I had to fly)._

John hates he cannot answer every second question with anything but It’s classified, it’s secret; the base can no longer be reached, we’re stranded – but his father comprehends the silence somewhat (or at least he pretends to), and Rodney _does_ refrain from insulting anybody (too loudly).

* * *

“And I thought my family was fucked up.”

“Gee, thanks, McKay.”

“Seriously. You’ve got servants –” “The correct term is _employees,_ Rodney.” “ – and everyone are giving each other the cold shoulder and don’t talk to one another and is that a real lion skin as a rug in the fourth living room or just a fake? In working environment, fine, that sort of silent discipline is excellent, I can’t work when people keep talking and talking, but at home, well, it’s all screwed up. You called him ‘sir’. Fuck, you call your dad ‘sir’ - how’s that for normality!”

John shrugs. He’s not addressed his dad otherwise since he was twelve. The nice thing about that is that the distance doesn’t feel that personal now, Patrick Sheppard is just a man he’s forgotten to know and the man’s shock had been far-away, like from a whole other planet. But he also regrets a little that he’ll never be close to the old man and that he’ll never belong here. He’s frightened them all away, and he’ll never be able to be close to Dave like they were before, as kids, before their mother died.  
(He’s never missed this place, not even the large open spaces because they’re too cold for his tastes.)

* * *

He and Rodney are greeted by the rest of the house’s inhabitants like they were business associates, like strangers from afar, like _shadows_. John doesn’t like the iciness in the air, but Dave and Patrick refuses letting them pack up and leave just the day after their arrival. For a few days more they’ll have to sit through uncomfortable dinners, feeling out of place in their newly acquired jeans.

Just for a few more days, that’s all.

* * *

Perhaps because of coincidence - or his father actually realizes that other guests aren’t appropriate right now, that neither of them have any energy left over for it – the house is eerily empty and quiet. No business partners come over to dinner to strike deals. Dave spends a lot of time in the study, or out of the house, in town working with whatever, John doesn’t particularly care (maybe he should but he doesn’t).

Dave’s wife is there, casting brief glances as John walks around the garden in the sunny mornings with Marie in the old pram Bill has dug up in the attic, in which he himself was pushed around a lifetime ago. She’s childless and Dave doesn’t seem that bothered, because he’s too busy taking care of business to have time for children, but John understands why she might think it unfair. If Dave’s too busy for children, how could John possibly have time for it on a military base, as a soldier, as a leader?

He can’t tell her, of course, how Atlantis isn’t like any base on Earth even if it’s dangerous, that it’s an entire city he’s made his home, that his daughter has got dozens of aunts and uncles there. There’s no possible way to explain.

* * *

Rodney doesn’t quite get it. Not any of this. He misses the taste of jell-o and being able to talk aloud about Atlantis and there’s no one around with high IQ that he can have decent discussions with (none of these people seem to be able to tell even a proton from a neutron and that is _beyond_ maddening).

The one thing he does understand is why John doesn’t like this place. It’s not at all the kind of environment that could be healthy for anyone.

* * *

They’re dining in what could be a four-star restaurant but is in fact a private dining room adjoined to a gigantic kitchen (Rodney’s still getting his head around it all), the fifth evening since their arrival, when a shrill ring tone suddenly interrupts the stilted conversation around the large mahogany table.

“Dr McKay,” Rodney answers automatically.

And he suddenly goes stiff and wide-eyed and silent, and John picks up his own phone as it rings persistently, eyeing the number with a frown. NORAD - now? Why?

He’s cautious to answer, but a steady thrill works up his chest and throat, and he hopes, he hopes that it’s good news; that the Ancients have decided they can return, that Atlantis can be theirs again –

“Colonel Sheppard.”

_“Colonel, General Landry requests your immediate presence.”_ John can’t even begin to ask for hours as the voice (Walter, he thinks, from the SGC) continues; _“We’ve located you and Dr McKay and are sending a transport which should arrive at 20:35 hours. Do not leave your current location.”_

He looks at Rodney while the others look at him – and, oh god, could it be …?

“Maybe …” Rodney murmurs but the risks are high that there will be no good news waiting for them. Nonetheless, they have no choice but to go. Whatever Landry has to say, it must concern Atlantis.

“What’s going on, son?” his father demands.

He wishes he could say _We’re going home._

Instead, he says, “Recall. Sorry, but we’ve got to start packing.”

* * *

The transport remains invisible all the while, for good reason because an alien craft sighted over the Sheppard residence would’ve caused some stir.

They pack in haste, glad they never brought that much anyway, and balancing a duffel bag in one hand and Marie in the other John enters the jumper with guts churning in anticipation. He vaguely recognizes the pilot as one of the test fliers with an artificial ATA-gene that had come to hand over the jumper to the SGC for study months and months ago.

Elizabeth is there, dressed like she too has been ripped from an evening out, along with Carson and Radek, and it is odd seeing them all without BDUs, no standard Pegasus patch on their shoulders. The former leader of the expedition looks a bit pale, but her eyes are alight – John’s certain she’s hoping the same thing as he is. That they could be going home.

“Rodney, John. It’s been awhile.”

“Didn’t expect to see you all here,” John responds but smiles as they take off, the craft humming familiarly and he puts down the bag, reaching out his free hand to lean against the wall just to feel the vibrations. It’s good, familiar, and he feels oddly safe inside the jumper. A shadow of home. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine, fine,” the Czech responds, “but it’s good to be pulled back from Area 51. Had too big office.”

Elizabeth looks shaken. As if fearing the worst. “I’m not sure whether to be relieved or terrified,” she admits eventually and John quietly agrees.

Rodney takes seat at the back where he can watch the HUD with half an eye, seeking answers from the other two but they have none to give, and the pilot knows even less of Landry’s sudden recall. John, naturally, walks up to the front of the jumper and would rather have been the one flying and not just a passenger. Reluctantly he claims the co-pilot seat, balancing the child on his knees and trying to stay clear off of the controls.

“We’ll reach Cheyenne Mountain at 21:00 hours,” the pilot reports.

The short ride is enough for Marie to fall asleep against John’s chest.

* * *

There are no good news waiting for them.

(Whenever is there?)

Atlantis is under attack, and because of the changes in the Replicators’ base-code that Rodney did so many weeks ago to allow the team to escape and survive, the Ancients haven’t been able to repel them. And in the days that John and Rodney have sat in the lonely mansion still not sure where to go next, the whole remaining crew of the Tria have probably been wiped out and they cannot determine if General O’Neill and Mr Woolsey are alive at all, because they cannot risk opening a wormhole in order to send a message.

The radios have been dead for hours.

And General Landry has no wish for them to figure out a plan to retake the city. All he wishes to know is how to get past the shield and nuke it, and frustration and anger and denial wells up in John’s body.

He won’t let them destroy the only home he’s had. Not their home. Not his daughter’s home.

“Just give me sixty marines and some of Major Carter’s new anti-replicator weapons and we’ll retake Atlantis,” he tries persistently, again – “We don’t have to destroy it, sir.”

But, “I have my standing orders,” is all Landry has to say and there is no way to persuade him otherwise.

* * *

No Replicator bastards or Earth nukes are going to take away their home, John swears to all deities that anyone has ever believed in – he’ll make sure of it.

* * *

Hypothetically, all they need is a few anti-replicator weapons, a jumper, a reconfigured macro and a team. They can do that.

While John lets Rodney figure out the technical details, the omega browses the halls of the SGC, skimming through mission reports and peeking into the control room in search for trustful familiar faces. They need as few people as possible for this to work; they cannot let word get out of the plans.

When he finds Lorne, the Major is working out his sweaty gear after another mission with his newly assigned SG-team, unaware as of yet of Landry’s orders to destroy Atlantis, and John subtly beckons him to a private corner where no one can overhear them. And when John makes him aware, it doesn’t take much convincing, despite the overhanging risks that they’ll all be fired and dragged away from the city once they’ve taken it back. They’re at breaking point already.

“Count me in, sir.”

“Good. Be ready.”

* * *

It’s immensely risky, but John refuses to leave his daughter behind. There’s no one here to take care of her, no one that he fully trusts; but when they reach New Athos he can leave her under the Athosians’ watchful guard for the next couple of hours – and if they succeed she’ll have her proper home back.

Atlantis is where she’s meant to grow up.

As they dial the gate and lower the jumper into level with the event horizon, John’s heart is full of determination and conviction and hope. And with Rodney’s sitting by his side he’s certain that _We’ll work everything out._


	6. Chapter 6

_“No doubt you are at Midway waiting for Dr McKay to rewrite his macro. I do understand what you’re doing, Colonel,”_   Landry says over the radio, distant and cold and stern, and even if the video feed might just be one-way John glares at the image on the HUD. In the background, Rodney is typing frantically away (probably pretending not to listen) while Lorne, Elizabeth and Carson sit quiet, the former checking his P90 magazine (also pretending not to listen) while the latter two share not that subtle looks (that John pretends not to notice). Marie is bouncing on Radek’s knee, oblivious of any tension or upcoming dangers, happily practicing spit bubbles.

_“Hell, I might even call it brave. But if you don’t turn that ship around immediately and return to the SGC I’ll personally make sure that your career in the military is –”_

And as the General’s voice rises with threats, John remembers fighting for countless hours get here and hiding for painful years in solitude and every fear he’s ever had about being recalled; frustration reels up in him and he breaks the connection before the man finishes the sentence.

Thankfully nobody comments.

“Okay,” Rodney says, rubbing his hands together, breaking the ice that’s started growing on the walls, “I’ve got it. We’re good to go.”

* * *

It’s night on the gate side of New Athos when they arrive, and they arrive quietly, unannounced through the woods, startling the group settled around the open campfire.

“John?!”

The woman stands as the omega grins and comes up to greet her, happily pressing his forehead against hers in the Athosian greeting. “Teyla. Ronon.” The former Runner nods at him and grunts wordlessly, looking pleased.

“It’s wonderful to see you, all of you!” Teyla says, delighted, but a bit suspicious because how can they have come here? _Unless_ – “Have you been allowed back in the Ancestral city?”

“Well, about that - we need your help.”

“Yeah,” Rodney adds and throws over one of the ARGs they’ve brought along, which Ronon catches deftly, and they shortly explain the situation while the big guy examines the new gun. “Atlantis is under attack. We’re going to take it back.”

“Sound good to me,” the Satedan says. “Been sitting around for too long.”

* * *

It’s been weeks and weeks since he’s had a conversation with any Athosian save Teyla, and it’s a bit awkward asking such a huge favour but Halling is understanding and says something about a debt, that he’s honoured to give his aid. He hasn’t forgotten how John and the other Earthlings saved him from the Wraith upon their arrival in Pegasus, how they reunited him with his son not just once but twice. His son Jinto has entered his growth spurt now, several inches taller since their first meeting, and he’s thrilled to see them all again. The kid admits that while liking the open spaces of New Athos more, he would still like to visit Atlantis again, see the long corridors he’d played in two years earlier as a curious child impersonating heroes, and John makes the risky but determined promise that they’ll reclaim the city so that the boy may one day see it.

He trusts Halling and the Athosians to keep his daughter safe, he does, but John knows the risks of this mission just like any other and he hesitates a moment before handing her over. Her small hand is curled around his forefinger possessively like she, too, knows that this might be goodbye.  
But he’ll return, he quietly promises – they’ll return and their family will be whole and they’ll have their home.

“Thanks, Halling,” he says for the umpteenth time, “it means a lot.”

“Your daughter will be safe with us,” the Athosian promises and smiles. “May you be successful in your mission.”

John’s glad the man doesn’t mention praying to the Ancestors, because the omega has a bone or two to pick with them.

* * *

When the control tower gleams in the night and collapses as the explosion echoes across the waters, they stare at the fading yellow lights in silence. They are confident that the Asurans will have mended the damage within a few hours, before they’ve reclaimed the city but, still, it’s a bit like tearing open a wound in his own body.

But it’s necessary. They have to leave the Replicators blind in order to have a chance, taking out the sensors was the only way, and they don’t speak of it but John sees it in Rodney’s eyes: _I can’t fucking believe we just bombed Atlantis._

They can’t linger though. They’ve got work to do.

* * *

“Hey, if we continue like this there won’t be much of a city left to save,” Elizabeth remarks, voice calmer than she probably is feeling.

“I’ll try to run the drones into your _least_ favourite buildings,” John says, managing to glance over his shoulder for a millisecond only because they’re being hunted by at least five drones and he’s flying dangerously close to the city spires, weaving between buildings swiftly and randomly in attempt to shake the weapons off, and there’s no time for chitchat. There’s an explosion far-off and a few moments later a drone crashes into their shield, causing the jumper to tremble - but the shield holds, if barely. Three drones left. If he could lose just one more of them ... _“McKay!”_

“It should be working!” Rodney cries, gesturing widely at the frozen Replicator sprawled on the floor of the rear compartment; the key to their whole plan, the means of which to spread a freezing program to the other Replicators so they can take them out with the ARGs. Well, that is the theory. It _sounded_ good. “Look, if I give him any more power he'll wake up and kill us all!”

“Sheppard can’t keep this up forever!” Ronon growls, the two guns in his hands never wavering from the Replicator.

In the end, he opts for diving into the ocean. Though they’ve never used it before, there is an underwater jumper bay and that is one way into the city. It better be damned close enough.

* * *

Also, John would be quite understanding right now if General O’Neill has him fired when all this is over. Almost getting your commanding officer drowned never looks good on the record.

* * *

O’Neill doesn’t buy their plan C (or A), but Woolsey definitely does, pure terror gleaming in his eyes and hopefully it will be enough to fool the Replicators. At this point they can do little else but throw themselves headlong this dangerous plan and hope to see it to the end.

* * *

They get caught, as expected; but at least they manage to disable the star-drive, ensuring that Atlantis stays where it is and the shields aren’t raised too early. He and Rodney find themselves cornered mere seconds after finishing their task at the fourth of the city’s shield emitters, the one by the North pier; the Replicators don’t have them shot all at once, probably for some recreational mind-probing and John tries to hold back his shudders at the prospect as their weapons and TAC vests are taken from them, and they are swiftly led to the nearest transporter. From there it’s straight down to the cells in the lower parts of the central spire.

When they arrive, Carson, Teyla, Elizabeth and Ronon are already trapped in a cell. The Replicators aren’t gentle, pushing them inside roughly and Rodney’s elbow gnaws into John’s side as Ronon manages to steady the omega by the arm and the alpha stumbles into him, grabbing John’s jacket on reflex to stay on his feet.

It doesn’t take long for the machines to find Lorne and Radek either. They smartly put up no fight and no one has been stunned or beat up (except for Ronon who would never go down any other way, and by the time John and Rodney find themselves tossed into the cell the big guy has already come to and is glowering at their captors menacingly).

“Did you manage to -” Elizabeth starts as the cell is closed and a force field activated once more around them, and Lorne nods sharply. “Yes, ma’am.” And that is at least something. (This might actually work.)

* * *

Then O’Neill and Woolsey are led to their cell as well. The General is damp and shivering and his brow creased in a dark frown, while the IOA member looks pale and horrified and his usually ever-present tie is gone, his shirt ruffled.

The one who has got to be the leader of the Replicators steps up, facing them, and John turns to the machine with a casually smug grin on his face. Let them believe they have them caught, cornered, trapped.

“Did you really believe you could stop us?” it asks.

“Well, why else would be here?”

“Colonel, might I have to fire you?” O’Neill asks curtly.

“No, sir,” John answers in all honesty; “I think you’ll have that to look forward to when we get back.”

“I am afraid your scheme has been revealed, Colonel Sheppard,” the Replicator goes on, it’s voice monotone, as if not noticing the short exchange between the Tau’ri. “It is over.”

As one, his team turn to glare at Mr Woolsey, who stares back wide-eyed and angry and afraid behind his glasses. “He put his head in my forehead! How can you possibly resist that?”

“Well,” General O’Neill puts in not very helpfully, “I like to close my eyes and think of England.”

* * *

Thank god the Replicators are so easily fooled.

Five seconds after the order is given to raise the city’s shield, every single Replicator has turned into a useless pile of dust. Now all that remains is to convince the Daedalus not to try and nuke the city.

And as they rush from the cell through the now empty corridors toward the control room, John doesn’t miss the General giving him an appraising nod: _That was good work, Colonel._ And the omega nods back: _Good old plan D, works every time._

* * *

Colonel Caldwell beams down with a heavy team of marines half an hour later, full of astonishment and disbelief. They leave Elizabeth to do most of the talking, and now that he’s been rescued and not drowned or nuked, the General is very helpful in convincing that they are the real deal and Atlantis is truly safe and back in human control. As sunset nears, the man has been convinced and a wormhole established to Earth, transmitting the message that the city has been reclaimed.

* * *

Finally, after hours and hours, Atlantis is theirs. Soon they’ll pack a jumper and head back to New Athos and pick up Marie. Then - well, John knows they might have him fired.  
But if that is so, then he’ll savour these last few hours in Atlantis, tracing a hand along the walls to remember the texture. Beneath his fingertips the city hums contently.

* * *

His ride on adrenaline has ended now. John walks through the empty corridors with a loudly pumping heart, his feet going on automatic, taking him to his and Rodney’s quarters. It was never damaged by any drone or the bomb; or, if it was, the Replicators have fixed it just like the central spire. (There’s not a single dent in the walls now, albeit their decorating is a bit Spartan.)

It is as it was. Before. The room appears too large now, without anything in it. But it is going to be filled soon - yeah, a bed and a chair there and the gifts from the Athosians, and it’ll be like home.

Like home.

He thinks, fleetingly then: _I’d not be able to live on Earth. Not within this lifetime. Not ever._

“Hey,” a voice mutters behind him and he needs not turn around. Rodney’s warm scent embraces him first. “I thought I’d find you here. Landry’s approved we start setting up operations again and Caldwell is helping organizing things, if you want to know. Also I think the Replicators may have fixed several areas damaged by the flood so we could have a lot more lab space and things to explore, and - hey? John? Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” The alpha cuts himself off realizing his mate hasn’t said anything, not even tried to cut through the tirade. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” John murmurs - and for the first time in days he isn’t lying. He smiles, looks out the nearest window at the ocean. There are no storms. “Yeah. I think I’m okay.”


End file.
